


Good at Goodbyes

by somethingsomething



Series: The AWOL Nation [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Blood, Classic Cars, Demons, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Gore, M/M, Tattoos, Team Hot Dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingsomething/pseuds/somethingsomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunters aren't heroes but they do have origin stories.  This is Raleigh Becket's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely based on this tumblr post: http://wantonlywindswept.tumblr.com/post/60781130336/pacrim-spn-fusion-gifset-just-10-years
> 
> Somebody teach me to hyperlink. It's a thing that really needs to happen.
> 
> Enjoy!

Growing up, Raleigh Becket had a habit of losing people like trees lose leaves in fall. Too bad people don’t come back in the spring.

The first to go is his mom. Leah Becket is a wonderful mother, always there with smiles and kisses. She is the champion of the Becket house until she isn’t. She smokes, his mom, and eventually her body can’t resist the toxins. She’s gone in three months.

His dad leaves, then, too. Right in the middle of the ceremony. Raleigh and Jazmine don’t notice but, later, Raleigh will realize that maybe Yancy did. It was in the middle of some prayer that Raleigh can’t remember the words to. All he feels now, looking back, is Yancy’s hand like a vice on his shoulder until it finally relaxes.

Yancy tries the whole holding-down-three-jobs routine, but it’s a lot for families with two parents. Yancy has to try and raise two moody, red-blooded, grieving teenagers. It isn’t going well.

Then comes the call from the school, the one about the underground frog-racing ring Jazmine was running in the middle school. It was frighteningly well organized. Jaz has records and lackeys. Bets range from homework to pencils to allowances. There are golden champions. There are desperate repeat gamblers, ones who keep trying but never win. The school was suspending Jaz until further notice.

There is, predictably, an incredible fight in the Becket household that night. Yancy is at his wit’s end trying to raise two kids at 18. Jaz is an angry ball of abandonment. At 13, she doesn’t understand why her father has just left them like this. She wants her dad and he isn’t here. It doesn’t help that Yancy and Raleigh don’t have any answers for her.

Eventually, Jaz storms upstairs, sobbing, slamming every door she can. At least two need some sort of repair. 

Yancy stays up all night, calls his employers to tell them that he can’t come in tomorrow, his brother and sister have the flu, I owe ya one, Mac, thanks. He’s in the middle of reading through the reports when he figures it out. If Jaz really is this smart (of course she is, she’s brilliant) and the straight life isn’t doing it for them, maybe they should just…. Leave.

Yancy has his license and a car. It’s gorgeous, that car. She’s an old blue ’69 Chevy Chevelle and they name it Gipsy Danger because all three of them are young and stupid and only one high school degree between them. Years later, Hermann Gottlieb will give Raleigh a very long, very dry lecture about why you can’t name anything Gipsy but that isn’t for at least six years.

So the Becket siblings start running cons and try not to get caught. They’re good. They’re very good.

It works out except for the part where a ghost pegs them as its next target.

Lucky for them, Stacker and Herc Pentecost have been trailing the same ghost and arrive just in time to exorcise the bastard.

Raleigh is 17 when he learns about demons and hunters. After that, he’s hooked. And Yancy, well, Yancy doesn’t have any desires to give up the open road.

Jaz, though, is terrified, wants nothing to do with it. At 15 she insists on going to live with their aunt, who asks no questions, just tells them to call every Monday at 8 p.m. no ifs, ands or buts. Aunt Jen holds herself weird when she tells them this, like maybe she’s said it before and those particular idiots didn’t listen. Or she’s decided that both Raleigh and Yancy are batshit insane for dumping their sister in Iowa to go road tripping for an unspecified amount of time.

With Jazmine safe, the Pentecosts teach the Beckets the important parts of hunting, like the signs of different creatures, when to kill and when to wait, and, most importantly, how to not get themselves killed. Three months in and they’re declared “ready enough, Stack, can’t coddle ‘em forever.” Stacker looks vaguely unimpressed with this sentiment. The Beckets are left with an arsenal in a false trunk and a number and address for a place called the Roadhouse.

Raleigh believes that they are invincible.


	2. Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence and gore at the end. I regret nothing.

Raleigh is 21 and seriously jonesing for a double bacon cheeseburger. He tells Yancy as much.

“Kid, it is six a.m. Not only is there no one open at this godforsaken hour, but the idea of food is nauseating.” Yancy is 25 and it is far too early in the morning for this shit. (It’s always too early.)

Raleigh laughs. “Yeah, okay, Yance. You go back to sleep. I’ll let you know when we hit Illinois.”

Yancy doesn’t have to be told twice.

* * * * * *

Real morning (nine in the morning, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise) finds them in a small town in Illinois. They’re here for a routine job, just a poltergeist banging around in some pipes.

They break out the blue jumpsuits and pretend to be the plumbers. This takes some good ol’ charm from Yancy on account of the fact that they don’t have a van, just the Chevelle.

Yancy talks their way in and down into the basement. “Yes ma’am, happens all the time in older houses like this. Pipes get worn down with the cold and then these fluctuatin’ temperatures, the joints just get a little loose. We’ll be back up in a jiffy!”  
With that, Yancy goes striding down the stairs to the hot water heater. Raleigh’s already started setting up.

“Smooth, bro. ‘Jiffy?’ Who the hell says ‘jiffy’ anymore?” Raleigh has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Definitely a poltergeist. Poor woman has five boys. The oldest is thirteen. All I did was let her know we were gonna take care of it, no need for her to worry. I think one of them was about to break something, anyway.”

Something crashes upstairs and a chorus of “Nobody did it!” marks the time like church bells.

Raleigh and Yancy snicker while they set up chalk and candles. “Man, I am never having kids,” Raleigh says.

Yancy snorts. “Who’d let you? No woman is dumb enough and no man is patient enough to get turned down by adoption agencies that many times.”

“Yeah? What about you, old man? You weren’t even tryin’ at the bar last night. Forget your Viagra or somethin’?”

This is what Yancy has always liked about roadtrips; the easy back and forth you get from being two feet from another person for weeks. At this point, Raleigh and Yancy can almost read each other’s minds.

They finish up before the mother can finish scolding her sons. Yancy leaves a fake bill on the table with a phone number straight to one of the phones at the Roadhouse. Hopefully Tendo or Alison will pick up. The last time Newt did it, Raleigh and Yancy had almost had their covers blown.

They get into the Chevelle and head back to the motel. They just miss the sound something crashing to the ground and a chorus of “Nobody did it!” marking the time like church bells.

* * * * * *

Raleigh sleeps with a knife under his pillow. There’s never been a reason for it, not really. The Beckets are good, but not Winchester good; no one’s ever come after them in their sleep. Raleigh just thinks its badass. (It has nothing to do with the stories they’ve heard. The ones about how demons hate hunters even more. How they’ve moved on from ordinary destruction to targeting hunters. Nothing.)

Raleigh bolts awake like he’s been electrocuted, knife sweeping in a wild arc. There’s a half-heard whisper slipping through his panic. _Nobody did it._

The room is empty except for him and Yancy.

He tries to convince himself that everything’s fine - _we’re fine, just go back to sleep, kid, parents fight_ \- but his instincts are running away from him. He’ll do a sweep of the room, he tells himself, he won’t crawl in next to Yancy. He’s not eight years old anymore. Raleigh turns on the light.

Yancy is arched off the bed. The curve of his body is an almost-perfect semi-circle. His heather gray T-shirt is five shades darker. Yancy’s entire body is tight, his muscles trembling.

Panic starts at the back of Raleigh’s head and spreads it’s tingling fingers until his head feels like it’s on fire and his gut roils. Guilt would freeze his heart if not for the fear. How long has Yancy been like this? Where the _fuck_ is the demon? Is it even a demon? He doesn’t even know. _Fuck._

Raleigh moves towards his brother like a ship through molten lead. He looks for something, _anything_ to stop this whateverthefuckitis. Raleigh can’t breathe. Yancy’s eyes are still open, still moving.

“Oh, you finally woke up!” The voice is smooth, practically dripping with honey. Raleigh tosses the knife without looking. It’s a beautiful throw, the silver winking as it flips end over end. By any account, a textbook execution. The demon (he still doesn’t know, not for sure, but a wrong name is better than no name) plucks it out of the air.

Raleigh can feel the desperation tensing along his arms. He has no knife, the guns are on the other side of the room and Yancy is still paralyzed.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your brother’s savior?” The demon walks, casual as you please, towards the head of the bed. Raleigh watches as the tip of the knife trails along Yancy’s body.

“What do you want?” This makes the demon spin around, his hands coming together. Like this is the best thing ever, the most fun he’s had in ages.

“Now we’re getting somewhere! You disturbed my home today, destroyed something very precious to me. I would like it back.” By now, the demon has made his way over to Raleigh. He drags the tip of the knife along his left arm, straight lines with 90o angles. Raleigh would be impressed with the geometry if it didn’t fucking hurt.

“No idea what you’re talking about, jackass.” It’s all Raleigh can do not to cry out when the knife slices down to his elbow, three fast strokes.

“Well then! Perhaps big brother knows.”

Raleigh’s heart skips. He’s going to let Yancy go, they’ll have a fighting chance, they can do this, they’ll be fi-

Yancy comes roaring into his head. Raleigh can’t tell who’s feeling what pain, where he’s standing, nothing. Then Yancy’s voice, shouting in his mind, _Raleigh listen to me!_

With Raleigh’s attention, Yancy throws images at him, faster than machine gun fire. A witch, maybe. A witch controlling a town full of demons and ghosts. _There’s one here, but it might leave if you shoot him. You have to shoot him, Rals, shoot and run._

_No! Not without you!_

_Raleigh!_

The witch might be in their heads with them. He might be good at reading people. Either way, he clucks his tongue in dismay. “You know, I had such high hopes for you two. You seemed like such nice, good boys.”

_Raleigh, I–_

Raleigh hates himself. He uses the distraction of his brother vaporizing (red mist is everywhere, sticks to everything, coats his tongue and eyes, floats up his nose, and oh fuck he _felt Yancy die_ ) to lunge for the nearest shotgun.

In the end, the iron bullets work best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I regret everything. Especially not wearing waterproof mascara.
> 
> If there's something off (pacing, typos, etc) lemme know; I only read this through once, rapidly, because of reasons.


	3. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every disaster has clean-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd this part's done! Thank you for liking and subscribing, y'all! And for linking it on Tumblr! That was a fantastic surprise :) There's more to come...at some point. I have to go write "real" stuff now about the ancient Chinese.
> 
> There are probably typos - I only read through this once because I'm lazy.

He’s numb.

* * * * * *

He pulls the Chevelle over to the side of the highway. Stumbles to the other side. Retches. Touches his face, feels tacky blood like a film coating his body. He retches again.

Gets back in the car. Maybe. He doesn’t know.

* * * * * *

He must’ve called Tendo at some point because he’s ended up at the Roadhouse. Alison comes in every now and then, leaves some broth. He hasn’t eaten in days.

Bandages wrap around his left arm. Raleigh refuses to look whenever Alison or Vanessa change them. There are smaller wrappings on his knuckles, the backs of his hands. He’d punched in the windows of the Chevelle at some point.

He wakes up in a panic, murmuring _YancyYancyYancy_ like a mantra – like a prayer – more often than not.

* * * * * *

When he can finally feel again, can finally process what’s happened (it’s been weeks, they’d been getting worried, wondering if they needed to take him to see a specialist, Vanessa knows somebody, somebody who’d understand and keep quiet), he wishes he couldn’t.

The grief is overpowering. He _felt Yancy die,_ knew his last words, carried his brother’s heart and blood on his skin. Grief rises up above him, bigger than any tsunami, threatening to drown him, crush him, break him. He could deal with that, though, if grief were the only thing dragging him under.

Guilt twines itself around him, guilt over the fact that they should’ve known better, should’ve known to check and double-check and triple-check. But they didn’t because they were young and dumb and believed in their own perceptions of invincibility.

Raleigh thinks that there isn’t any more room for emotions, guilt and grief consuming everything in him – but he’s wrong. Again. Paranoia and anxiety have wormed their way inside him. He jumps at birds, cringes at creaking floorboards. Tendo is chopping vegetables for dinner one night. The flashing of the knife sends Raleigh’s heart pounding and lungs gasping. Newt calls it a panic attack. Raleigh says it feels like dying.

* * * * * *

Someone tells Jaz. She calls, leaves voicemail after voicemail. Raleigh can’t listen to any of them.

The guilt increases. Anxiety pounds against the insides of his skull.

* * * * * *

Alison takes off his bandages, pronounces them healed over. She smiles when she says it, like this is a good thing, like she’s trying to will something good into his life.

Raleigh supposes it is. He just can’t bring himself to care.

* * * * * *

It’s full-on spring in Kansas now, the time of rebirth and renewal. Raleigh packs his sweaters and hitchhikes to Canada.

He leaves his cell, the Chevelle and no note.

* * * * * *

He finds a lonely intersection in Podunk, Minnesota. He wasn’t actively looking for one, isn’t even sure he was subconsciously thinking about it. But he’s here and the idea weighs heavy in his mind.

He’s got an emergency kit a lá demon hunter. It’s got the basics like salt, graveyard dirt, fake IDs, cash, yarrow flowers. All he’d have to do is find a black cat. He’d go to the animal shelter, find the meanest, ugliest bastard they have. Shove everything in a box. Bury it. Make a wish, give a kiss. He’d have Yancy back in no time. Raleigh sits in the dirt where north and south meet east and west, cross-legged like he’s meditating. He supposes he is.

The sun rises. Raleigh walks on.

* * * * * *

It gets better, after a while. He sleeps less, but he’s not as likely to wake up screaming for a brother long gone. He gets a job in construction. They pay under the table and don’t ask to see a G.E.D. or high school diploma.

The witch had cut pretty deep in some places. Lack of use and thick scar tissue meant agonizing stiffness on chilly mornings. The repetitiveness of construction is it’s own kind of physio. Eventually, he can move his arm like the injuries never happened.

Raleigh has more good days than not, now. He can watch old cars roll down the streets of whatever village he’s found himself without the ground dropping out from underneath his feet. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s to piss, not to check for monsters under the bed. (If he sleeps, that is. Insomnia’s still a bitch.)

He doesn’t talk about Yancy to the other guys on the construction crews, but he doesn’t talk much period. He’s here to do a job, not to dwell in the past.

All in all, it’s a good enough life, a good way to make a living. Maybe other guys would be lonely, but Raleigh’s used to live as a hunter: not a lot of nights in the same place and even fewer friends.

* * * * * *

He wanders into a tattoo parlor in Albany one afternoon. It’s been four years, seven months.

A bell chimes as he walks in. “Be with you in a sec!” a woman calls from over the sound of buzzing needles.

The place is small but neat. The walls are covered in plain black frames, pictures of the artist’s work displayed in every available space. Raleigh figures that the work is good, but he doesn’t know anything about sketching, let alone if a tattoo is award worthy. A tenth grade education hadn’t focused very hard on art.

Two women eventually emerge from the back, the taller one giving aftercare instructions to the shorter. The second woman nods, pays and leaves.

“Hi! My name’s Lexie. Here to get tatted?” Raleigh gives her a once-over. Tattoos spreading from her chest and down her arms, probably dipping under her shirt to cover the rest of her body. Tall, thin but not in-shape, red hair tied behind her head. Not a threat.

“Raleigh, and yeah. How long would it take to do this?” He slides a piece of paper across the counter.

It’s a pretty plain design, something Jaz had come up with when they had just started running cons. They’d been fooling around, joking that they were soldiers convicted of a crime they hadn’t done. Jaz had declared that every squad had an emblem, a shield so they needed one too.

She’d spent days looking up old squadron patches from every country and every war. Eventually she’d drawn a circle flanked by wings, a five-pointed star in the center. Yancy had been smitten with it and even let Jaz paint it onto the ceiling of the Chevelle. They’d all fallen asleep in the backseat tracing it more times than they could count.

“Mmm, two days max, I think? One day to do the lines, another to fill it in, depending on how big you want it. We can start now, if you’d like, I don’t have anymore appointments for a while. Where you thinkin’ of puttin’ it?” Lexie takes him to the back as she talks. He sits when she points at a chair.

“Sure, that’d be great. Across my shoulders.”

Lexie looks up from where she’s making a stencil to study Raleigh’s shoulders. She makes a little humming noise in the back of her throat. “All black, like it is on the paper?”

“Yeah.”

Lexie positively beams at him. “Great! We can probably be done in a few hours. Let’s get started. Off with the shirt, handsome.”

It takes awhile and it hurts (but not as much as a silver knife, never as much as that), but Lexie is the best and longest conversation he’s had in years. She chatters about her younger sisters, all of who have been inked at some point by her. She asks a couple questions about Raleigh. Stuff like where ya from, this for bein’ in the service. Simple, inane questions. When he only gives short answers, she hums and changes the subject. Raleigh is thankful that hers is the shop he wandered into.

He doesn’t tear up when he sees the finished product, but it’s a near thing. If Lexie notices, she doesn’t say anything.

Raleigh feels a little invincible again when he leaves. It isn’t until later that he realizes it’s because he’s got his siblings at his back again.

It’s a good feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how tattoos work so if I got something wrong, lemme know and I'll fix it. Let me know what you thought of all of this!


End file.
